Eager To Be On The Run

Nothing to stand against the sun
dry and high the wind blows down south
going up north, in a train, followed by the day of the fourth
from when one runs away form self

Being a Hobo, riding a train
walking the narrow, never the straight
eyes wide open, steam flushing with knowing
but yet falling into despair

Unknown to the man, slowly fading
rather he watches the dust pass by
slowly he drops down to linger homeless
rather he watches the blue sky and the clouds and the sun

The dry grass next to the one that grows
a picture of the man, of the self
rather he tells himself to go and walk
and rather he steps on the growing grass

He never looks back, he dare not
but he did, did so not in purpose
he dropp dead cause of all the heat and all the regret
he wished to be good, to live good

Here he pictures home, home as white and clear
he dreams the tree beside the window
the long journey he should have taken
instead, he took the hard and easy way out

He was dying, dead and dead again
he suffered, he shivered, he cried a tear
but he loved as well, he cared, he smiled a million
its just that the world seemed to him that it did not

by August de Leon

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